Fat Assassins (7 page)

“Lookie here, lookie here! We got a real pro shooting! Come see how it’s done and try your’n luck to win a prize!” he roared to the crowds milling around the park benches, before sticking his hand into a hidden crevice and activating the mechanical deer. “You get ten shots. All you need is 1 hit to earn a prize!”

I tuned his voice out and focused on the hum and clank of the metal deer. I closed my left eye and exhaled.

PING! 

A metal deer fell backwards.

Hum. Clank. PING!

Another deer down.

Hum. Clank. PING! And another.

“That’s what I call beginner’s luck,” the old man said trying to interrupt my shooting rhythm.

PING! PING! 

Two more deer.

The metal mammals seemed to be accelerating. I adjusted my breathing to match the new speed. PING! PING! PING! PING! PING!

I lowered the gun from my shoulder. “Easy peasy. What did I win?”

“You a member of the NRA?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at me. “No ringers allowed.”

“It’s my first time every shooting a gun, even a toy one. It didn’t seem that hard though. What do I win?”

His rotten teeth hid behind pursed lips, as he muttered, “You can pick anything from that top row.”

I looked at the giant animals hanging suspended from the ceiling by little silver hooks and pointed at a giant, pink unicorn with a rainbow mane. “I’d like that one, please.” 

He clambered up a step stool and struggled to pull the giant toy down. 

I turned to look at my friends who were uncharacteristically quiet. They were standing there with their mouths open, staring at me while the crowd that had gathered around the game started clapping and cheering. 

I turned back and snatched my unicorn from the man. Wrapping both arms around it, I gave him a sweet smile and said, “Thanks!”

“What the hell was that? When did you learn to shoot?” Ulyssa asked, acting huffy like I’d kept a big secret from her.

“I’ve never used a gun before, but it wasn’t very hard.” I replied, shoving the unicorn towards Mitchell. “Can you hold this for me while I finish my funnel cake?”

“No way! I’m not carrying a giant pink fluffy unicorn around.”

“I’ll hold it,” Mitsy offered. “I think it’s pretty. Pegasus are my favorite animal, but unicorns are my second favorite.” It made sense that she liked mystical creatures since she liked to collect figurines, read science fiction novels and dreamed of going to Dragon Con one day. 

“Thanks!” I shoved the animal in her arms. It was almost as tall as she was and I felt a little bad saddling her with it, but I really wanted to finish my deep fried, sugar coated dough. 

“I want to go again,” Mitchell demanded, handing the man more money. “She had the good gun!”

Picking up the same gun I used, he played two more rounds without winning a prize before giving up. 

The old man continued lobbing insults at him as we walked away. “Good thing you got all them women to protect you since you couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn.” 

Eventually his voice faded as we strolled along looking at the other games on our way to the rides. 

Once there wasn’t someone attacking his manhood, Mitchell relaxed. “That was some good shooting for sure. I won’t be pissing you off!” Mitchell declared, slapping me on the back like we’re part of some elite carnival rifleman’s association.

“Whatever. You don’t have anything to worry about,” I said, dumping my empty paper plate into the trash can and retrieving my unicorn from Mitsy. “We don’t even own Super-soakers.”

All of the game attendants must have attended the same customer service training, because Ulyssa became the next target. 

“Step right up and fool the guesser,” A bearded man in a top hat yelled at us. “I’ll guess your weight, age or birthday.”

“Don’t even think about it!” Ulyssa warned him.

“Weight, age or birthday,” he said pointing to the scale behind him and gave her a body scan. “Let’s see how much junk you got in your trunk! 200 if you’re wearing Spanx - 220 if you’re not.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she yelled at him. 

“Prove me wrong. Prove me wrong. Step on the scale and prove me wrong.”

Like a gender call-to-arms, all the women took a step toward the guesser.

“Whoa, ladies. I’m just trying to do a job here,” the guesser said, stumbling backwards into his wall of prizes. He twisted sideways trying to stabilize the giant wire frame covered in stuffed animals. His fumbling accelerated the rate of fall and the wall smashed down onto the corral of the nearby pony ride. The crashing noise and dangling fuzzy projectiles startled the Shetland ponies who began galloping in circles looking for an escape from the threat.

The tiny riders clung tightly to the sweat drenched necks of the runaway ponies, while concerned parents sprang to action. The men hopped in the corral and tried to pull the children off the crazed beasts. The women marched toward the guesser like a crazy Transylvanian mob, minus pitch forks and torches. The lack of adult supervision created a unique window of opportunity for the children still waiting in line for a ride. They seized that opportunity and descended on the stuff animal prizes like miniature Barbarian raiders. The guesser could only watch as they pilfered his goods, as he tried to outmaneuver the mom mob. 

The delighted shouts of the looting mini-barbarians further confused the ponies, who reared on their hind legs in self defense sending two unlucky riders out of the saddle. Three of the remaining riders were paralyzed by fear and crying, while one dug her heels into the saddle hoping for a longer ride. She was waving her hand in the air yelling, “Yippie Ki Yay . . . ”, when her dad jerked her from the saddle, leaving us to wonder how she would have finished that statement. 

Exhausted from the excitement, the ponies slowed to a cautious cantor which allowed the men to retrieve the remaining children. The happy reunions distracted the irate parents enough for the guesser to mysteriously disappear.

“Wow! That was a good dose of karma!” Ulyssa commented smugly.

Sam grinned her agreement, “I’m surprised he made it out of there alive.” 

“Do you think those ponies will be traumatized?” Mitsy said, furrowing her eyebrows.

“I’m sure they’ll be okay. They’ll probably get some extra oats for dinner since they worked so hard today,” I consoled her.

Mitchell had already lost interest in the conversation and stopped to watch people trying to land rubber frogs onto lily pads in the middle of a pond. “I wonder how they came up with the idea of frog tossing. Why frogs? Just doesn’t make much sense to me.” 

“What’s up with all these games that are cruel to animals? Shooting deer. Throwing frogs,” Mitsy asked, looking around the group for validation. “Don’t you think it sends the wrong message to people? That animal cruelty is okay?” 

“They’re just games. I think cruel people are cruel and it don’t take a game to prove that,” Sam challenged her.

Oblivious to Mitsy’s distress, Mitchell led us directly towards one of the worst animal abuse games. “Hey. Whack-a-mole! We gotta try it!” 

He handed the girl behind the counter some money and turned toward us to see if we were watching. The whole movement was very bizarre. It looked like he was trying to imitate one of those bodybuilders. He held the club in his right hand, flexing his right bicep while pointing his left hand in our direction.

Oblivious to his attempts to impress her, the girl behind the counter started the game. Mole heads started popping up behind him like little brown ninjas. He spun around and started banging the padded hammer head again the holes trying to catch the moles. After a few minutes the music faded away signaling the end of the game.

“Here’s your prize,” the girl said, laying a plastic harmonica on the counter. “Do you want to try again for a bigger prize?”

“Sure,” he said, handing her another $5 bill. She pressed a hidden button and the brown ninjas reappeared. After a few minutes of work, he earned a plastic kazoo to go with his harmonica. “I’m done with this. I just spent $10 to win two crappy prizes.”

It’s payback time. 

“It’s your turn, Ulyssa. My treat,” I said, paying for the game, giving her a smile. “You need to get rid of some of that rage.”

Sam, Mitchell and Mitsy stepped back. They clearly agreed with me about Ulyssa’s rage.

“Whatever,” she replied, picking up the club. “This game is stupid.”

The bored attendant started the game and Ulyssa swung into motion. 

Pop. WHACK!

Pop. WHACK!

Pop. WHACK!

Pop. WHACK!

Pop. WHACK!

Holy crap. When did she grab the other hammer? We watched in amazement as she wielded both hammers like an ancient Viking Princess. As the music faded, she slammed the hammers crushing two moles before returning them to their holster. 

She ran the back of her hand across her forehead to wipe off the light beads of sweat. 

“Wow! That felt good!”

The attendant used a long stick to get one of the Tweety birds down handing it over to Ulyssa. “Here ya go. You’re pretty good. I only ever saw one person use both clubs like that before. Some guy up in New York.”

“If I give you $5, would you win one for me?” Mitsy asked, handing Ulyssa her money. “I want a giant stuffed animal.” 

“I’ll try. I can’t promise anything.”

Ulyssa handed the money to the girl and grabbed her Viking hammers. She made quick work of the moles again without missing a single one. Mitsy squealed and grabbed the stuffed animal. I guess this made up for the violence of pummeling some animals.

The annoyed attendant glared at Ulyssa saying, “That’s your last turn. Those Tweety birds are $50 a pop.” 

“No problem.”

Mitsy gave her a friendly wave goodbye. “Thanks!”

“That was crazy. It was almost like you knew where the moles would pop up,” I said.

“Yeah. I don’t know what happened. I was in some kind of trance and everything moved in slow motion.”

We paraded our gigantic furry critters over to the Extreme FreeFall ride and weaved our way around the railings to join the short line. Rows of smiling riders sat dangling their feet, awaiting their manufactured adrenaline rush. Two carnival workers checked the safety gear of the riders lined on each side of the giant metal contraption, before giving a thumbs up to a third worker in a booth. The machine propelled the riders to the top of the tower, where they hung suspended for a few seconds before dropping back down towards the ground. The screams were drowned out by the thumping sound of club music. The riders dropped a second time and the ride was finished. The workers herded us onto the metal platform, grabbing our stuffed animals and propping them against the railing. 

I felt doubt creeping into the back of my mind. 

“Ulyssa . . . I don’t think this is a good idea. Maybe I should just watch the stuffed animals,” I whispered nervously. “Look at the size of those seats. I don’t think I’ll fit.”

“You’ll be fine.” 

“Excuse me honey. You’re gonna want to sit on the end seat,” the attendant said, guiding me to the end seat and gave me a wink. “It’s a little bigger than the other ones.” 

I saw him directing Ulyssa towards the other end seat lessening my embarrassment a little. I wish the exit gate was on our side, so I could sneak out. I wiggled my butt into the plastic seats and felt the edges digging into my hips.

This is not a good idea.

Mitsy patted my leg saying, “This’ll be fun!”

I looked down the row at Ulyssa wearing the same look of doubt as she pulled the bar over her chest. 

I tried to pull down my chest bar to connect the safety latch. It wouldn’t latch. 

Dang. 

I sucked in my breath and tried again. 

Double Dang.

The worker walked past everyone yanking on the connectors to make sure it was secure. 

He stopped when he got to me. 

“Hey Jimbo! I’m gonna need some help with this one!” His breath reeked of old cabbage and cheap whiskey.

“It’s okay. I don’t have to ride. I’ll just go over there by the stuffed animals and wait on my friends.”

“Naw. You’re fine. We’ve had to do this before.”

Jimbo walked around the side of the ride asking, “What do you want?”

“Need a little help getting her situated.”

Jimbo gave me a once over and nodded. 

Without any warning, he grabbed the chest bar shoving it into my boobs and deflating my lungs. I gasped for air while cabbage-breath struggled to snap the connector closed.

“I don’t think this is a good idea!” I gasped. “This ain’t nothing but a seat belt, it ain’t gonna hold me.”

“Lean into ‘er a little Jimbo so I can get this damn thing latched. I just need bout another inch or so.”

Jimbo jumped into the chest bar pushing my arms and legs outward like a string puppet.

“I can’t breath.” 

“Just a little more,” he insisted.

Jimbo gave a big shove with his shoulder.

I heard the seat belt click or my ribs crack. Not sure which.

It must have been the seat belt because they slapped high fives, stepped back and gave a thumbs up to the operator.